he was a werewolf, and after
that, I couldn't have eaten a crumb of bread with him, no, not if you had
killed me. Others can think what they please about this, but as for me,
I hope your geniuses will all get after me if I lie."

CHAPTER THE SIXTY-THIRD.

We were all dumb with astonishment, when "I take your story for granted,"
said Trimalchio, "and if you'll believe me, my hair stood on end, and
all the more, because I know that Niceros never talks nonsense: he's
always level-headed, not a bit gossipy. And now I'll tell you a
hair-raiser myself, though I'm like a jackass on a slippery pavement
compared to him. When I was a long-haired boy, for I lived a Chian life
from my youth up, my master's minion died. He was a jewel, so hear me
Hercules, he was, perfect in every facet. While his sorrow-stricken
mother was bewailing his loss, and the rest of us were lamenting with
her, the witches suddenly commenced to screech so loud that you would
have thought a hare was being run down by the hounds! At that time, we
had a Cappadocian slave, tall, very bold, and he had muscle too; he
could hold a mad bull in the air! He wrapped a mantle around his left
arm, boldly rushed out of doors with drawn sword, and ran a woman
through the middle about here, no harm to what I touch. We heard a
scream, but as a matter of fact, for I won't lie to you, we didn't catch
sight of the witches themselves. Our simpleton came back presently, and
threw himself upon the bed. His whole body was black and blue, as if he
had been flogged with whips, and of course the reason of that was she
had touched him with her evil hand! We shut the door and returned to
our business, but when the mother put her arms around the body of her
son, it turned out that it was only a straw bolster, no heart, no guts,
nothing! Of course the witches had swooped down upon the lad and put
the straw changeling in his place! Believe me or not, suit yourselves,
but I say that there are women that know too much, and night-hags, too,
and they turn everything upside down! And as for the long-haired booby,
he never got back his own natural color and he died, raving mad, a few
days later."

CHAPTER THE SIXTY-FOURTH.

Though we wondered greatly, we believed none the less implicitly and,
kissing the table, we besought the night-hags to attend to their own
affairs while we were returning home from dinner. As far as I was
concerned, the lamps already seemed to